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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (40/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: If last update was an introduction to Los Angeles, hotbed of NHL drama, then today’s update is an introduction to Emma Swan, done taking anybody’s nonsense. It was an absolute delight to write. As always I can’t thank you guys enough for continuing to be so psyched about this story. I flail over every comment and message and all of it. @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan made this better. Also living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

She kept her notes app open for all of Game 2. And brought it with her to the press box. Because she had to keep score.

Killian hit someone, Emma barely acknowledging the number on the jersey or the name on the back as she jotted down the updated points total. He was winning. And so were the Rangers.

Midway through the second period and the announcers on the other side of the wall had used the word offensive explosion no less than six times already, a three-goal cushion and Jefferson had notched a handful of vaguely impressive saves.

She didn’t really care about that though.

Emma cared about the rules she’d been tasked with following and the bet she had to keep on track and Killian had scored with two minutes left in the first period. She cared about that too.

“What do you keep writing?” Ruby asked, peering over Emma’s shoulder and scoffing when she realized what she was doing. “Oh my God is that the bet?”

“Yup,” Emma answered and she added another tally to Killian’s side when he forced a turnover.

“I can’t believe they roped you into this. This is ridiculous.” “This is a good story. And you know it.” Ruby groaned and she couldn’t really argue. It was a good story. And they’d pushed it for the better part of the last two days hoping to distract from that other story and then the next story and there was another story in The Los Angeles Times that morning, like Killian Jones’ past was any sort of actual news.

Emma had pushed through a sea of reporters to get into the Staples Center a few hours before puck drop – her phone and the rules of the bet clutched tightly in her hand like they were some kind of metaphorical anchor keeping her centered or something – and she only sort of heard the questions, keeping her head down so no one got a picture of her tripping over her feet.

They knew everything.

Or most of everything.

And she would have been impressed by the investigative skills of the greater Los Angeles news contingent if she weren’t also somewhere in the realm of infuriated by it as well.

“We should probably get you some kind of escort out of the arena later,” Ruby continued, eyes staying focused on the ice as the Kings pushed into the zone. Jefferson made the save.

“Or you could not worry about that,” Emma said.

“I’m serious, Em.” “I know you are, that’s why I’m telling you not to do it. This is so not about me.” “This is one-hundred percent about you.” Emma lowered her eyebrows at Ruby’s tone and she still hadn’t turned her head away from the pane of glass in front of her. She texting without even glancing at her phone screen.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Emma asked. “Ah, damnit.” Will got a penalty – two minutes for tripping and that put him down another five points and he’d be pissed about that later.

“Em, don’t worry about the bet for two seconds,” Ruby said seriously, pulling the pen out of her hand and ignoring her cry at the movement. “Listen. They want to talk to you.” “Who?” “I mean throw a dart. Everyone. You know I got a request from People this afternoon?” “People,” Emma repeated and her once-lowered eyebrows had practically flown up her forehead. God, their PK was horrible without Scarlet on the ice. Arthur hadn’t stopped pacing in days, at least.

“Yeah, you know like the magazine.” “A gossip magazine.” “Well, like a step up from gossip magazine. But them too. US Weekly is very determined.” Ruby pointed at her phone screen as it buzzed again and Emma’s mouth fell open, the bet momentarily forgotten in a rush of stunned silence.

“That’s insane,” she sputtered. “What would they want with me?” “Exactly what the other story was only bigger and with actual quotes from you instead of some anonymous source who was willing to discuss your NHL dating history.” “None of that was true,” Emma mumbled, shifting uncomfortably her seat and Ruby nodded sympathetically. “And still no idea who the source was?” Ruby shook her head. “I don’t know who’d make all of that up. And even a shitty gossip site like that one isn’t just going to give up their sources. There are rules.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

“So then where is this going?”

Ruby groaned, slumping down in the chair and twisting the ends of her hair around one finger. “They’re going to be waiting for you when you leave.” “They were waiting for me when I got here,” Emma argued and they’d managed to get out of the penalty without giving up a goal. Still winning.

She needed to pay more attention.

“What?” Ruby snapped, nearly jumping out of the chair. Six different reporters glanced at her. She brushed them off quickly, taking a step towards Emma until she was practically leaning over her, both hands on her shoulders and a worried expression on her face.

“What?” Emma repeated. “It was fine. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even fall over.”

“What did they ask you?”

Emma shrugged and Ruby’s grip on her shoulders tightened. “I wasn’t really listening. Something about my laces. They keep asking about my laces. And maybe something about LA and the Kings?” She shrugged again. Ruby looked murderous. “What am I missing?” “I don’t know,” Ruby said slowly, chewing on her lower lip as her eyes moved across the room, staring at reporters like one of them was about to sell Emma out.

“You look like you’re about to start just breaking people’s recorders,” Emma said, doing her best not to laugh.

Ruby would probably kill her if she started to laugh.

This was insane.

She had a side-bet point system to keep on track and post-game SnapChats to send out and tweets about that same side-point system.

The fans really liked the side-bet point system.

Good. That had been the point.

“No one uses actual recorders anymore,” Ruby muttered. “I just feel like I’m missing something here. Something big.” “Seems awfully conspiracy theory doesn’t it?” “Mary Margaret agrees with me.”

Emma’s foot slammed onto the floor, shoulders rolling out of instinct and she hadn’t even noticed that the second period had ended. They were still winning.

“I’m sorry what,” Emma whispered and she appreciated how quickly Ruby blinked in response. “Are you talking to Mary Margaret about this?” “I thought you would, honestly. Or at least David. He’s the one who said we should get someone to walk out with you.”

She pressed her lips together tightly so she didn’t actually start yelling in the middle of the press box and Ruby kept blinking, sinking back into her chair slowly like she was nervous anything quicker would actually cause Emma to descend completely into madness.

It was close.

“This is insane,” Emma repeated and she couldn’t come up with another word. People were throwing t-shirts into the stands and the sound of fingers hitting laptop keys had never been louder in the history of the entire world, she was certain.

Ruby hummed in agreement and she didn’t look quite as nervous anymore, seemingly a bit more confident after Emma didn’t immediately start throwing things. “I know it is,” she said, reaching out to rest her hand on Emma’s knee.

“But you don’t have a reason for it? I mean, I almost get the stuff about Killian, but this is...”

She trailed off, not entirely able to say why me out loud without actually feeling like she was twelve years old. They’d brought out t-shirt guns now and something that might have been a cannon. The fans were very enthusiastic. And loud.

And Emma couldn’t really think anymore.

She wanted to go back to New York. She wanted to get out Los Angeles. She wanted to win a goddamn Stanley Cup. “No,” Ruby sighed. “I mean I get the Killian stuff. I’ve never met Gold, but I’ve done some talking and some questioning and the general consensus seems to be he’s just an absolutely enormous dick.” Emma scoffed and her laugh was shaky at best and, well, there wasn’t another word except insane for any of this.

“That’s the general consensus then?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded. “You really asked about Gold?” Another nod. “Why?” Ruby rolled her eyes and she’d never actually taken her hand off Emma’s knee. “You’ve got people in your corner,” she said easily and, maybe, just a bit intently. “Not just the captain of this stupid team. All of them. And me. Who wants some answers.” Emma was like some kind of Stanley Cup Finals Grinch – heart growing three sizes, at least, in the middle of the Staples Center press box – and she blinked quickly because this conversation was bordering on the edge of emotional.

“We’re not LA,” Ruby added softly and, well, maybe that was the moral of the season. “And thank God for that because, in addition to figuring out some shit about Gold, I’ve been told pretty much everyone here hates their job.” “What?” “Oh yeah, like, hates it hates it. I guess Gold brought in all these new people and they didn’t gel and they won games, but it was mostly just right place at the right time down the stretch of the regular season. Plus the West is a garbage conference.” “That’s your professional opinion, then?”

“Quote me,” Ruby said. “Except, you know, don’t. Because I want to keep my job.”

Emma laughed and it wasn’t quite as shaky as it had been before, eyes flashing to the ice when the players started skating again and they were twenty minutes away from splitting the opening two games.

“Speaking of jobs,” Emma said. “How did you figure all this stuff out about Gold while also doing your job?” “Maybe I’m just that impressive.” “I mean, yeah, sure, but also that’s a lot of investigative work on your part, Rubes.” “Did you miss the part when I said people like you?” “Ruby.” She groaned, scrunching her nose and Emma did her best to try and stay patient. “Dor knows people, obviously. So she asked around and a guy who writes for the AP and used to write for SI and he’s friends with someone on the Times sports copy desk.” “And they know Gold?” “Nah, they know someone who actually writes for the Times sports department and they mentioned that Gold would barely do interviews after he bought the team. I guess he’s not really into being on camera.” “Maybe he’s a vampire,” Emma muttered and the game had started again. A shot hit the crossbar and Killian was up against the boards, trying to find traction on his skates and they’d never come up with a point marker if you got hit.

She hoped his hand was ok. He hadn’t actually said it, but he’d gotten hit hard in Game 1 and it was still somewhere in the realm of purple when they’d woken up that morning. Emma texted Ariel about it.

“That might make sense,” Ruby shrugged, smiling that very particular type of smile at Emma. “We could run with that story, probably. I know some people.” “Media relations extraordinaire.” “You flatter me.” Emma laughed and she almost wasn’t worried about the apparent horde of reporters that would be waiting for her as soon as she walked out of the Staples Center and they hadn’t really come to any sort of conclusion on that front.

She didn’t have time to think about that.

There was still a community to relate to and a fan event before Game 3 in front of the Garden and Merida had left that morning on a non-stop flight to JFK to try and get some sort of jump on the planning.

Emma had started carrying around one of those portable phone chargers to make sure she was in constant contact and it didn’t seem to matter because her phone was probably just going to combust at some point, vibrating almost violently on the table in front of her.

“How goes the planning?” Ruby asked knowingly, one eyebrow lifted. “Any more tent debacles?” “There haven’t been any tent debacles at all this season,” Emma argued. Another point for Killian. Will was going to be furious with how badly he was going to lose.

Ruby’s smile widened. “Exactly.” “Was this supposed to be some kind of lesson?” “Maybe.” “A bit heavy-handed, don’t you think?” “Nah, you’re you, so this kind of had to play out this way.” “That’s rude.” “Insert something about you growing as a person or some other nonsense. I don’t know, ask Killian’s mom to supply you with some kind of cliché for this situation.” Emma shook her head slowly, but there was a smile on her face too and this team knew far too much about each other’s lives away from the ice and out of the arena and it was, maybe, kind of perfect.

Or some other cliché.

She’d asked Mrs. Vankald when she got back to New York. They had tickets to Game 3.

“When did you talk to Reese’s?” Emma asked. “Or David for that matter.” “At the same time. They come as some kind of pre-packaged deal, don’t they?” “They’re trying to finish wedding stuff,” Emma reasoned, but she couldn’t even really argue it anymore. Killian had been right before. They were some kind of pair.

“Yesterday,” Ruby said, brushing over wedding details and she still wasn’t happy about the blue dresses they were slated to wear in two and a half weeks. “Mary Margaret called me, by the way. So be mad at her. Because someone at school saw the story about Killian and asked her about it.” “Someone was asking Reese’s about hockey?” “Did she not tell you she bought a t-shirt?” Emma shook her head. “Oh yeah,” Ruby continued. “She’s all in on this fandom thing now. I think since we’re both here and you’re, you know, painfully in love with Cap, she figured she’d dive into the deep end of fandom. Her kids think it’s hysterical.” Emma gaped at Ruby who just kept staring at her like this was the most obvious thing in the entire world. It kind of was.

She’d have to add that to her maid of honor speech as well.

“Painfully in love,” Emma repeated, muttering the words, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to even sound bitter.

“Painfully.”

She scoffed, turning back towards the ice and the Kings could barely keep the puck on their sticks, let alone work their way into the zone. Offensive explosion seemed like the best description for this game.

They didn’t say anything for what felt like the rest of the game and it was practically over by the time they hit the five-minute mark. Killian was absolutely destroying Will on the side-bet front. They’d have to get him a Jones jersey.

And maybe a hat.

Definitely a hat.

“Emma?”

She spun around at the sound of the voice and he probably shouldn’t have been in the press box because he wasn’t media relations, but it had been that kind of day and, so far, that kind of series, so it only made sense for Neal to be calling her name from the doorway with just over three and a half minutes left to play.

The Kings pulled their goalie.

Emma didn’t move, just straightened her shoulders and lifted her eyebrows and Neal scuffed his feet on the carpet.

They had black carpet in the Staples Center. The Kings were, easily, the worst team in the entire league.

“Can, I, uh, talk to you,” Neal continued, scratching the edge of his thumb against his cheek. Emma tilted her head when she heard Ruby laughing, a soft, sarcastic sound that was about as good as a response as she could come up with herself.

Neal tried to smile, but it didn’t really work – he looked like he was in pain. He blinked and Emma was momentarily concerned he was actually going to cut his cheek.

That didn’t last long.

“Just a couple minutes,” Neal mumbled. “Maybe.” “Maybe?” Emma repeated sharply and Neal actually took a step back.

“Well, it’s a couple of different things.” Ruby stood up, arms crossed tightly over her chest and Emma wasn’t entirely unconvinced that she wasn’t shooting lasers at Neal.

“I’ve got stuff to do,” Emma said. “There’s this kind of important game going on.” “Your guys side bet?” Neal asked, laughing softly at his own question and Emma chanced a glance at Ruby. She’d absolutely come up with six different ways to kill Neal in the middle of the press box.

“Don’t be an ass,” Ruby hissed.

Emma groaned, neck snapping when she twisted it between her shoulders. “What do you want?” “To talk to you,” Neal said and he sounded almost depressing. “C’mon Ems, it’s important.” “I have a job to do.” “A couple of minutes. I just…” He trailed off, waving his hands in the air and something was wrong. Emma shifted uncomfortably on her feet, whole body twisting around when she heard the crowd start yelling again and the Kings hadn’t actually scored, but it must have been close.

“Two minutes,” Emma said. “You’ve got two minutes and that’s it. I’ve got post stuff to do.” “So do I.” “Fine.”

She brushed past him – still taking up a ridiculous amount of space in the doorway and Emma resisted the very real effort to knock her shoulder against his. She was an adult. A professional adult.

And she didn’t care about Neal Cassidy.

Not anymore.

“You coming?” Emma shouted, glancing over her shoulder when Neal didn’t follow her immediately. He nodded, jogging towards her and pushing open a door in the corner that she hadn’t actually noticed before, stepping into the stairwell without a word.

“You coming,” Neal repeated, one side of his mouth pulled up. She wanted to slap it off.

“Are you serious?” “I’m not going to murder you in a stairwell, Em. Come on.” She took a deep breath, tapping out a rhythm against her wrist and Neal’s eyes widened a bit when they dropped down to her laces. Neal sank onto the top stair, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck and every single one of Emma’s muscles felt tight or maybe heavy and this was already an exhausting conversation.

“You going to sit down?” Neal asked, glancing at Emma.

“Nope.” “Ems.” “Nope,” she said again, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. “Don’t do that. You don’t get nicknames anymore. You get two minutes and then I’ve got to go back to work.” “And back to Jones,” he added softly and Emma’s narrowed.

“That too.” “When did that start?” “That is so far out of the realm of your business it’s not even funny,” Emma said. “Is this what you wanted to talk about? Because that’s petty, even for you.” “Even for me?”

“You left, Neal,” she snapped. “Years ago. Actual years. And you took my job and you acted like it was totally fine and not your fault and it was. It was absolutely your fault. So, yeah, even for you seems like a pretty fair assessment of the situation right now.”

He didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity, eyes boring a hole into the space of stair in between his shoes and Emma did her best not to start pacing.

There wasn’t that much space in the stairwell.

“That’s true,” Neal mumbled and Emma’s shoulders heaved with the force of her deep breath.

“What is the point of this?” “They’re going to run something tomorrow.” “What?”

Neal took a deep breath and he was going to do permanent damage to his neck if he held it any tighter. “One of those ridiculous sites,” he said quickly, rushing over the words as if that would make any of this less absurd. “They’re going to run something.” “About?” “You.” Emma stopped moving, leaning against the wall and the stairwell, somehow, seemed to get smaller. “What aren’t you saying right now?” “It’s not good, Ems.” “What could they possibly say? I’m not on the ice. I haven’t even answered any of their questions!” “Yeah, about that,” Neal continued and his voice seemed to echo in her head. Or maybe off the walls.

It all made sense quickly – Emma was half certain she could feel her brain putting the pieces together – and Neal pressed up off the stair, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shooting her something that might have been apologetic.

“It’s you isn’t it,” she accused. Neal grimaced. “You’re the source, aren’t you? God fucking dammit, Neal. What did you say?” “You didn’t read the story?” “Of course I didn’t read the story! I’m trying to focus on my job. I’ve got a job to do and a team to promote and media requests to help Ruby with. Shit, Ruby is drowning in media requests and half the reason for that is you!” Her shoulders were heaving again and she couldn’t take a deep breath, blinking quickly to stop the emotion she could feel welling in the corners of her eyes. “Why would you do it?” Emma pressed. “An anonymous source? That’s just…” “I know,” Neal muttered. “I know, I know. And you’re right. It’s total shit.” “That’s not an answer.” Neal smirked and Emma glared at him, pressing her heels into the concrete floor underneath her. She’d missed the end of the game. And she’d stopped keeping track of side-bet points.

“I want an answer,” Emma continued. “Why did you come to Los Angeles?” “It was an opportunity.” “You worked for the league!” “Yeah, as some kind of lackey. The league job was a step down from what I was doing with the Preds and I’d only taken it for the title and, well, you kept moving up. You were in charge of this whole department and Los Angeles might not be Original Six, but it’s an enormous market. I was, well, I was jealous.” “You realize how childish that sounds, right?” “Yeah,” Neal nodded. “Doesn’t change the facts though. I wanted back in. I wanted some control and a department and I’ve known Gold since he had the Islanders. Interned with them while I was at school and I made some calls as soon as he came out here.” “So you straight up lied to my face then.” “What?” “When they fired me, they told me it was just business, but it wasn’t. Not for you. It was personal. You wanted my job and you told me you didn’t. God, you’re even more of a fucking asshole than I thought you were.” Neal’s jaw dropped and he looked like he was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to run away from Emma. She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry with the realization and fuck Los Angeles.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“I don’t care.” “It’s not like it didn’t work out. You landed in New York and you’ve got Jones following you around like some kind of goal-scoring puppy.” “Shut up, Neal,” Emma murmured. “Why the anonymous source? Just to screw me over some more?” “No, no, this is all kind of new.” “I don’t understand.” “Gold hates Jones. Despises him. Even if the divorce was close to being finalized, he doesn’t believe it. But there wasn’t really anything he could do except put out some fake rumors about wanting to pick him in FA.” “You know how insane that sounds?” Emma shouted and she was treading dangerously close to breakdown. She couldn’t see straight, everything tinged red as she tried to will herself to stop shaking.

“Jones stole his wife,” Neal said evenly as if he’d rehearsed that line several times in front of his bathroom mirror.

“Excuse me?” “Didn’t you know that?” “That’s not a question you get to ask. And not true either. God, Neal are you crazy?”

She was still shaking and Neal’s eyes darted back to her laces, mouth twisting into a sneer as the fabric shifted on her wrist. “It wasn’t right,” he muttered.

“It happened years ago! What does any of this have to do with me? And what is this story about tomorrow?”

Neal rocked back on his heels again and Emma still couldn’t quite take a deep breath. “This is all kind of a new plan,” he said again, ignoring her groan when he started rehash old points. “After all-stars and you two hadn’t made Page Six yet, but you got out of that car together and it was almost painfully obvious. He kept touching you and you had those,” Neal nodded towards her wrist, “on and as soon as I told you about him maybe coming here, I knew.” “Knew what?” “That you were in, Ems. All in. In a way we never were.” “So, what? This is repayment for that? You left. That was your choice, not mine.” “I made a mistake,” Neal said quickly and, maybe, just a bit desperately. “And I thought when you were here for all-stars, you’d want to talk or get coffee or something and you didn’t. You kept staring at Jones and letting him do whatever and then there were more rumors and that whole subReddit thing.” “You’re reading the Rangers subReddit?” Emma scoffed.

This was an alternate universe. She’d stumbled into some weird portal in this stairwell and this was an alternate version of Los Angeles and any sort of actual reality she’d ever encountered.

That was the only explanation for whatever was happening.

“It was kind of a perfect PR storm, you know?” Neal asked and Emma didn’t know. She had no response for whatever twisted situation this was.

“You are not making any sense.” “It all timed up perfectly. The fans were certain you were a distraction already and there was talk about what would happen if Jones didn’t sign and it made sense. Gold loved it.” “Say actual words, Neal!”

She’d stomped her foot and it actually hurt, pain shooting its way up her shin and maybe into the back of her head and there was more tension in between her shoulders than Emma realized could actually exist in a real, human body.

��Gold came up with it. They’d tried to bury the story after it happened. The accident and Milah and it was embarrassing for him, but not the way we wanted to spin it. Time that up with the distraction talk and that skid he was on and it was almost too easy.” The air rushed out of Emma’s mouth loudly and she wasn’t quite sure how she was still managing to support her own weight when her legs felt like they were made of jello. She needed to get into the locker room. She needed to get out of this stairwell.

She shook her head slowly, refusing to process what did, actually, make sense and Neal kept staring at her.

“He wanted something off the ice,” Neal added. “Something that was a real distraction and you two were perfect.” Emma scoffed. “That’s the part I don’t understand. Why both of us? I’m not actually on this team.” “Ems, please,” Neal said, brushing her off quickly and easily and if she blinked it could have seven seasons before in Vancouver. “It had to be both of you. The stuff with Milah was enough to distract Jones, keep him off his game and worried and it’d, hopefully, snap that point streak he had coming in here.” “But?” “But if we added you and wrote about you and what you went through, then it would completely throw him off his game. It’d throw this whole team off its game. Just look at Lucas. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me.” “I’d take that threat seriously,” Emma said and she was going to rip her laces in half if she kept tugging on them.

“Ah, I don’t know about that.” “What did you mean?” “When?” “You said what I went through,” she muttered, stomach flipping at the idea of what was coming next. “What are you talking about?” He sighed softly and for half a moment it looked like he regretted what he was about to say. That look disappeared as soon as he met Emma’s gaze. “The houses, Ems. And foster care and bouncing around and I think they found some kid you lived with in North Carolina to talk if they paid him enough. That’s what tomorrow’s story is. You and the past and your desperate search to find some kind of home.”

“I did,” Emma argued, voice low and the words felt like knives when she said them, cutting up her lips and her throat and her eyes were glassy.

“Not if Jones leaves. And this story isn’t really concerned with any of that. I think they took a kind of stereotypical approach.” Emma shook her head again, trying to will this conversation to end or maybe never happen and they’d split in LA. That was the only thing that mattered.

“Gold-digger stuff,” he added, like she was still listening to a single word he was saying. “Trying to find a home in Jones’ max deal. Kind of obvious, but I didn’t write the story.”

Emma pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek and Neal shrugged. That did it.

“You’re an ass,” she said, practically growling out the words.

“I warned you. I didn’t have to do that.” “Please, you did it to make yourself feel better. It’s not like you tried to stop the story.” “I’d have lost my job if I did that.” “That brings us back to square one of this argument.” “They’re not going to sign him after this,” Neal argued. “Even if they win the Cup. This is a PR mess for the Rangers and half the reason Ruby wanted to kill me was because of this, because she’s swamped with requests and it’s not going to stop. This whole series, Ems. Gold’s got a plan and he’s going to make sure Jones is on the short end of it.” She huffed out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, narrowing her eyes and Neal took another step back out of instinct. “Fuck you,” Emma said, turning on her heels and pushing back out the door and into the abandoned hallway outside the press box.

She was too far away from the locker room.

Emma needed to find an elevator to get to the locker room. Or maybe just outside. There wasn’t enough oxygen inside the Staples Center.

There were reporters outside the Staples Center.

She couldn’t leave the Staples Center.

God fucking damnit.

Emma’s finger felt like it snapped as she hit on the elevator button and she was breathing now, but it wasn’t easy – quick pants that were just making her lungs hurt. She ran her hand over her face, tapping impatiently for the elevator to get to whatever floor she was on and she all but sprinted into it when the doors opened.

It took far too long to get to the bottom floor and the sound of her tapping foot echoed in the otherwise empty elevator – some kind of audible reminder of being alone and that was just stupid.

She wasn’t alone.

She was fine. Everything was fine. Or it would be fine. And maybe David had a point – maybe she shouldn’t leave the Staples Center on her own.

Emma was almost close to confident and maybe just a bit positive, fingers looped through her laces as she took a step towards the locker room and she heard them snap. Her breath caught in her throat and, well, it had to happen eventually – tugging on them constantly like some sort of emotional life vest and her mouth hung open as she stared at the slightly broken equipment in her palm.

“Fuck,” Emma mumbled, clenching her hand tightly until she could feel her nails pressing into skin. She turned on the spot, back towards another stairwell and if she didn’t sit down, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stay standing up.

Emma winced at the sound of the door hitting the wall and collapsed onto the bottom stair, legs twisted up awkwardly underneath her as she tried to pull her phone out of her pocket. What time was it? It had to be late.

Puck drop at six western time, meant nine eastern time and the game had lasted...two hours? Two and a half? Three? It was nearly midnight at home.

Her fingers moved over the screen anyway. It barely rang once before Mary Margaret answered. “Emma?” she asked, concern obvious even on the other side of the country. “Are you ok?” “How do you know I’m not ok?” “It’s midnight and you won. I figured you’d be swamped with work stuff.” “I am,” Emma admitted. “I’m just...not doing it.” Mary Margaret made a noise on the other end, something sounded a bit like surprise and maybe confusion and David yelled something she couldn’t quite understand. “What did David just say?” Emma asked.

“Talk to security,” David shouted, not even waiting for Mary Margaret to answer. “Get them to walk you out so you don’t get hounded by assholes again.” “David,” Mary Margaret sighed and Emma slumped against the step behind her.

“Fine, fine,” he corrected quickly. “They’re not assholes. They’re doing their job. Em, make sure they don’t do their job.” She took a deep breath and the stair was probably going to leave a bruise in her back. Maybe she should talk to Ariel. God, she still needed to get post-game video.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly, jolting her back to reality and she’d never actually explained why she’d called. “Still here.” “Is everything ok?” “No,” she whispered and there were tears on her face. She’d broken her laces.

“What happened?” “I talked to Neal.” She must have been on speaker phone because David started yelling again and Mary Margaret was trying to shush him and none of it was doing much to help settle whatever storm of feelings was raging in the pit of Emma’s stomach.

“And I can’t really stop the assholes from doing their job,” Emma continued, cutting into the argument and the line went silent immediately.

“Why?” David asked sharply.

“Because they’ve already done it. It’s going to run tomorrow, I guess. That’s what I was talking to Neal about.” “Neal knew?” Mary Margaret whispered and Emma nodded, hair brushing up against the side of the phone.

“Yeah.”

Emma shrugged, not really sure what to say and David was swearing again – words very obvious despite the fact that he seemed to be stomping across the apartment floor as well. Mary Margaret didn’t even try and quiet him.

She might have started swearing as well and Emma nearly choked on the minimal amount of air she was breathing when she heard the word dick muttered angrily on the other end of the phone.

“Reese’s,” Emma muttered, but the tirade didn’t end and it took three more tries before Mary Margaret actually stopped cursing Neal to a variety of different, and graphic, locations.

“Yeah, sorry, sorry,” Mary Margaret said quickly and David hummed in the background. “I just...I can’t believe that.” “Come home, Em,” David added. “Take a red eye back tonight.” “I can’t,” Emma argued. “I’ve got work to do and I don’t want…” “What?” Mary Margaret made another noise – and this one sounded like understanding. “She doesn’t want Killian to worry.” “Mind reader,” Emma accused.

“Yeah, well, I know you.” The door swung open and Emma nearly dropped her phone, pressing her nails even tighter into her hand until she was certain she’d actually managed to cut herself as well. Will Scarlet blinked at her once, jerking back slightly when he realized she was sitting there – crying.

She was still crying.

“Emma?” he asked and she waved. She actually waved. God, she needed to go home. “What,” Will continued, scuffing his foot against the floor. “What are you doing in here? You know Cap was looking for you.”

He must have just gotten out of the shower, hair still wet and there were droplets of moisture on his forehead. He was holding his phone.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the questions in her ear as she tried to pull her fingers out of the fist they were still in.

“Um,” she mumbled. “Just, um, talking to Reese’s.” She pointed at the phone – or at least tried to. She still hadn’t let go of her laces.

“Everything ok?”

She was going to nod. She was going to lie. She was going to promise it was as fine as she’d nearly convinced herself it was, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to do it, couldn’t actually move an inch and Mary Margaret was still talking in her ear.

Will pressed his lips together and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, reaching forward slowly to tug Emma’s phone out of her hands. “Hey, Mary Margaret,” he said calmly, seemingly unperturbed by the tears still falling down her cheeks. “Yeah, you’re right this isn’t Emma. No, she’ll be fine. You’ll be fine, right, Emma?” “Yeah, sure,” Emma agreed, not entirely what she was agreeing to.

“Of course not," Will continued. “Nope. Absolutely not. Yeah, he’s doing post now. You eat yet, Emma?” “What?” “Food. Did you eat during the game?” “No.” “What,” he snapped, eyebrows pulled low and Emma wasn’t certain what to do with a suddenly concerned-about-her Will Scarlet. “Why not?”

“Um, well, I was busy.” “That’s a lame excuse. Yeah, don’t worry about it Mary Margaret, I got it.” He hung up the phone – after answering half a dozen more questions and he kept saying yeah and sure and don’t worry and this was the strangest alternate universe. Emma held her hand out expectantly for her phone and Will grinned at her when he dropped it in her outstretched palm. “How come you didn’t eat?” he asked. “There’s food in the press box.” Emma sighed. “I told you already. I was busy.” “Too busy to make it to post?” “Are you checking up on me, Scarlet?” “No,” he answered, crossing his arms over his team-branded t-shirt. “At least not technically.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a giant liar is what you are. You and Cap.” “Why wouldn’t Killian be fine?” Will narrowed his eyes, tilting his head and staring at Emma speculatively. “I mean besides all this Gold shit.” “I wasn’t talking about all this Gold shit. Did you not see the game?” Emma’s heart stopped or maybe sped up and she hissed in her breath when her nails pushed into her palm again. “What happened?” “I mean nothing big, really. We won. And he scored. Hey, you got the scoresheet on you? I’m pretty certain I lost, but I’d like to see the numbers in person.” “Were you keeping track of your side-bet during the game?” “Eh, only kind of,” Will shrugged. “You don’t have it do you?”

Emma shook her head. “I left it in the press box. I, uh, well I kind of got distracted.” “And that’s why you didn’t see the end of the game?” “Yeah.” “You want to talk about it?” “What?” Emma asked, nearly shouting the question at Will. He laughed softly, ducking his head as he moved next to her.

“Just a question.” “You didn’t like me,” she said and it still sounded like an accusation. “But then you went and fought Soyer because he was talking about me in the con finals.” “Only one of those things is true.” “Which one?” Will laughed again and he tapped his finger on her still-clenched fist. “What are you holding on to so tightly?” It felt like a much bigger question than it was, something important in just a few words and Emma bit her lip. “My laces,” she muttered. “I ripped my laces.” “You tug on them a lot.” “You noticed that?” “Everyone’s noticed that. You guys are awful at not acting like you’re super into each other.” “Ruby said painfully in love.” “Ah, well,” Will said. “Lucas is better with words than I am.” “Insert cliché about actions speaking louder than words here.” His whole body shook when he laughed again, the sound working its way in between them and his shoulder brushed against Emma’s when he moved. “Was it about this Gold shit?” he asked. “Why you left?”

“Yeah.” Will let out a low whistle or maybe a sigh and he didn’t really have enough hair to actually run his fingers through it, but he tried anyway. “Fucking asshole,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that’s the general opinion at this point.” “I can’t beat anybody up, can I?” Will asked and he hadn’t moved his shoulder away from Emma’s, ignoring his now-ringing phone.

“It’s not anyone on the ice.” “Damn.” “Exactly,” Emma laughed. “Although I do appreciate the thought.” “Ah, well it’s the thought that counts.” “That was a good cliché!” “You spend enough time around Mrs. V, you’ll start to pick up on these things.” Emma hummed noncommittally and she wasn’t sure she was entirely ready to start having that kind of conversation with Will Scarlet. He didn’t seem to care. “You should you know,” he added. “Spend some more time around Mrs. V and the entire Vankald family and, well, Cap. In general.” “In general?” “Or, you know, indefinitely.” “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Emma said and if there was a sign on her forehead flashing the word liar over and over again, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Sure,” Will agreed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course not.” The door slammed open again and Killian’s eyes widened when he took in the scene in front of him – Will’s shoulder still pressed against Emma’s arm and the tear tracks on her cheeks and someone’s phone was ringing again.

“Answer Belle,” Emma muttered, bumping her arm against Will’s side. “I’m fine.” Will clicked his tongue skeptically and Killian still hadn’t moved, door propped open behind him with the back of his foot. “Hey Cap,” he muttered. “Look, I found her.” “Yeah,” Killian said slowly and Emma was concerned they’d done permanent damage to the wall behind the door. “I can see that.” Will made another noise, shooting a glance Emma’s direction as he moved towards the door, grabbing his phone out of his pocket as he moved. “We’re getting food soon,” he shouted. “So, you know, keep that in mind.” “Idiot,” Killian mumbled, but he was almost smiling. Emma wiped the back of her hand against her cheeks, tugging on skin and blinking quickly to try and get rid of the evidence and she knew, immediately, it didn’t work – Killian’s eyebrows pulled low and his shoulders set and he didn’t actually sit down next to her.

“I was worried,” he said.

Emma sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She glanced up at him, pulling her hair over her shoulder and made some sort of ridiculous noise in the back of throat, jumping up and reaching out instinctively.

She dropped her laces.

“What happened?” Emma asked sharply, fingers hovering just over his mouth and she barely make out the stitches underneath his lip. It wasn’t messy – Victor was good at his job, after all – but it looked fresh and it must have hurt.

“Ah, they pulled their goalie, which was stupid, you know, we were up by three.”

Emma smiled and she took another step forward, the front of her heels brushing up against Killian’s league-mandated dress shoes and his hand fell on her waist. “That wasn’t an answer,” she muttered. “And they have to pull the goalie, those are the rules.” “Not a rule, Swan. A suggestion.” “What happened to your face?” “Are you suggesting there’s something wrong with my face?” “You know exactly what I’m suggesting,” she laughed and they’d all been given far too much Finals merch. He was wearing a brand-new shirt. “Did you get hit?” “A stick.” “Hmmm?” “A stick hit me,” Killian explained, rolling his eyes. “They pulled the goalie and everyone in front of the net and Jeff couldn’t get his glove on the puck. So people were hitting and trying to get position and somebody’s stick got in my way.”

“In your way.”

“Obviously.” Emma gripped the front of his shirt and she knew he was still worried, his eyebrows pulled low and his lips set a very certain way – although that might have been because of the stitches too. “You’re ok though?” she asked and her voice might have shaken slightly.

“Fine,” Killian promised. “It happens. Couple of stitches and Victor yelling at me about learning how to move in front of the net and Red wasn’t very pleased either.” “Do you get PT for a busted lip?” “She was worried about my jaw.” Emma hummed, eyes scanning his face like she was taking stock of it – checking for bruises or other cuts and she wasn’t even remotely qualified to do any of that.

“You won, by the way,” Emma said and Killian widened his eyes in confusion. “The side-bet thing. You absolutely destroyed Will.” “That penalty probably cost him.” “It did.” Killian hadn’t ever moved his hand off her waist, the other one coming up to wrap around her wrist and he smiled when his eyes met hers. “You going to tell me what happened, now?” “I feel like there should have been a line,” Emma sighed. “Everyone wanted to know. I’m surprised Ruby hasn’t barged in here too.” “Swan.” Emma groaned, head rolling back and forth and she threw both her hands in the air when she realized her laces were still sitting in a small pile on the floor behind her. Killian made a noise when she moved, bending down to grab the laces and she blinked quickly when she turned back towards him.

“I broke my laces,” she muttered. “Kept pulling on them.” Killian wrapped his fingers around hers lightly – he was still smiling. “What happened, love?” “Neal’s the source.” His grip tightened slightly and he rolled his shoulders back, suddenly looking taller and just a bit more intimidating than Emma could ever remember seeing him. She could see him swallow and it was probably good he hadn’t actually hurt his jaw because he probably would have snapped it, clenching it tightly as the anger practically rolled off him.

“Did he tell you that?”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded. “Wanted to tell me or let me know that there’s a story coming out tomorrow or something. He’s an ass.” “There’s a story coming out tomorrow?” She shrugged. “That site that keeps running all of it. They’re, uh, they’re going to write about me. I guess.” “You?” “Yeah,” she continued and the word felt scratchy in her throat. God, she was starving. “And me growing up and I guess I’m not just a distraction anymore, I’m some kind of gold-digger too because, according to Neal, I’m only after you for your max deal.” “Fucking asshole,” Killian growled and it was good he’d changed because Emma wasn’t certain she wouldn’t have been just a bit intimidated by the combination of that voice and a full NHL uniform.

“I’m not,” Emma said quickly, pressing her palm flat against his chest. She could almost feel him relax. That felt important.

“You’re not what?” “Using you for your max-deal potential. Just for the record, as it were.” Killian scoffed and Emma bit her lip when he tugged her hand up towards his lips, brushing against her knuckles. Maybe Ruby sent out the post-game SnapChats. She hoped so.

“Ah, well, if you were you wouldn’t be doing a very good job, would you?” Killian murmured. “No deal in sight yet.” “That’s not true and you know it. A split in LA is huge.” “Good PR response, Swan.” “An honest one.” “That works too.” She couldn’t really kiss him – far too aware of the stitches and his possibly injured jaw – but her hand found its way to his cheek, resting on a ridiculously long playoff beard and Emma knew she didn’t imagine him leaning into the touch.

Good.

“No one will care,” Killian said. “That story and the site and whatever source Neal wants to pretend to be. No one on this team will care. I won’t. Although I might kill Neal.” “You and David can tag-team it.” “That’s fair. And he texted me twice while I was walking over here.” “Overprotective idiot.” “Nah,” Killian argued and he clearly didn’t care about his stitches as much as Emma did because he kissed her , lips ghosting over hers quickly. She had to stop herself from pushing back against him, digging her heels into the concrete underneath her. “People care about you, Swan. Mary Margaret, David, Scarlet, even Locksley asked where you were during post.” “You,” Emma chanced and she wasn’t certain when her heart started beating so loudly. “Me,” Killian agreed. “If not slightly differently.” “Oh?” “Yeah, well, I love you. A painful amount, I was informed earlier, so that seems like some kind of other level of care.” Emma laughed – a real, honest laugh and the smile on her face didn’t feel quite as strange as she expected it to. “You talked to Ruby didn’t you?” “Interrupted her post-game SnapChat sending process.” “She didn’t have to do that.” “She said you were busy.” “Yeah, having some sort of emotional breakdown over broken laces.”

“We can get you new laces, Swan.” “It’s not the same,” she mumbled and Killian laughed at her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he tugged her against his chest.

“Of course not.” Emma took a deep breath, nose scrunched against his t-shirt and he smelled like him – post-game shower and something she couldn’t quite name and, God, he was warm all the time. There was probably a reason for that, something scientific that Emma absolutely did not care about and he laughed softly when she burrowed further against him, arm tightening again until his fingers were trailing across the bottom of her spine.

The door was going to fly off its hinges if they all kept slamming it that much and Robin stared at his shoes when he walked into the stairwell. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he muttered.

“You’re not interrupting anything, Locksley,” Killian laughed. “Relax.” “We’re just going to get some food and Lucas seemed certain Emma hadn’t eaten yet.” “You didn’t eat yet, Swan?” Killian asked, pulling back to stare at her like she’d just admitted to something a bit worse than not eating during a game.

“I did have some things going on,” Emma argued. “We’ll be right there, Robin.” Robin nodded, finally lifting his eyes and he muttered ok as the door slammed shut behind him.

“God, the Staples Center people are going to kill us for all the damage we’ve inflicted on that poor door,” Emma laughed.

“Good. Screw the Staples Center.” “That’s not a very PR positive response, Cap.” “Good thing you’re the only one here.” Emma might have actually giggled when he moved his eyebrows, doing something ridiculous with the side of his mouth and Killian groaned when he moved the wrong way, hand flying up to the stitches he probably wasn’t supposed to touch.

“You’re going to get yelled at by Victor again if you do that,” Emma said. Killian rolled his eyes.

“I’m more worried about Red.” “Ah, yeah, that makes sense.” “You want to go get something to eat with them or you want to just go back to the hotel?”

Emma tilted her head and, well, she hadn’t really expected the question. She was an idiot. And Neal was an ass. Who might be an anonymous source, but didn’t know a single thing about finding a home.

And she had an answer to Killian’s question – and maybe a few other ones as well.

“Let’s go get some food. You can lord your side-bet win over Scarlet. And I am kind of starving.” Killian looked at her and his answering smile was as ridiculous as trying to kiss her with several stitches in his lower lip. “We can do that, Swan.” “And I love you too. For the record, or whatever.” He kissed her again – quick and light and so goddamn meaningful it almost counteracted gossip site stories on its own. His arm slung over her shoulders might have done the rest. And they went out with the team and Killian bragged about his win and Ruby made sure Emma ate and they fell asleep together in a hotel room they weren’t supposed to be sharing in downtown Los Angeles.

#cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan #csbb #blue line #let's all form an orderly line to push neal down a flight of stairs #and hug will scarlet

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